And though I’ve never been one to apologize, I say, “Sorry. That was a crappy thing to say. I get it. It’s not like my fathers needed to teach me Old Norse, but I still know enough of it to get around if I ever end up in the Viking Age. I can see why you’d want to start teaching Bazzi your language too.”
“There is no need for ssssuch belabored teaching,” Damianos answers, his usual cold tone even icier with the added hisses. “Unlike your inferior species, drakkon pick up new languages within only a few conversssssations.”
“Okay, I see you’re back to your old M.O.,” I say with a disappointed shake of my head. “I say something you don’t like. You insult me instead of just saying, hey, Ola, don’t be an asshole about my language.”
“I am not insssulting you,” he answers. “Your sssspecies is poorly designed. Fragile, too long in infanthood, and still centuries away from a quantum leap because of your constant inner squabblingssss. There issss no arguing that.”
“Yet, here we are on a planet filled with billions of us, while most of your supposedly superior race got taken out with just one bomb.”
I can tell it’s a solid burn by the way his golden eyes narrow. “Did you sssseek me out for a reason?”
Darnit, why do I always forget about that not picking fights with somebody if you’re planning to ask for something?
Backpedaling a little, I begin with, “First of all, I wanted to thank you so much for the wardrobe. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been wanting new clothes until I started picking stuff out. I’m so, so appreciative.”
He hesitates. And I can almost hear him going through his megavillain cache of possible answers, before he settles on a careful, “You are welcome.”
I stare at him in silence waiting for the neg.
But it never comes. So I layer on some more gratitude. “Also, thank you for hiring Thalia. She’s wonderful and efficient and unlike her grandmother, doesn’t treat my stomach like a pet.”
A ripple of amusement is ruthlessly suppressed before Damianos answers, “You are welcome. Again.”
“Seriously, I’m so grateful. There are just two things I’m missing now for my big day.”
“And those are?”
“Any idea whatsoever about what I’m getting ready for and somebody to do my hair for the big event. I tried to talk to Thalia about it. But she said she didn’t have any idea either and that any additional staff who came to this island would need to be screened by you—which I’m assuming means gag-ordered in that special way of yours.”
Damianos frowns. “Why would you need someone to attend to your hair? It looked beautiful when you came down the stairs at the gatehouse. In truth, I was somewhat disappointed that you opted for a simple puff during my imprisonment in the North Dakota kingdom house. Braids like the ones you wore previously are fine enough to match any dress.”
“First of all, please stop with the shade. Be happy I was able to pull off an afro puff, considering that while you were passed out in the basement, I was dropping a bowling ball out of my hoo-hah.” (If you’re wondering why I’m referencing my birth after telling you it wasn’t all that hard—shaddup and MYOB. He doesn’t need to know that!) “And second of all, Other You did those braids. Not me.”
Damianos crooks his head. “You are saying the alternate future timeline version of me braided your hair?”
“Yes,” I answer, my heart squeezing at the memory. “He considered bathing me and braiding my hair a form of Reverence.”
I guess Damianos doesn’t feel the same way. His half of the mate bond goes so mute, it feels like he’s smothering it with a pillow. And several seconds pass before he finally says, “I will ssssee to the matter with Thalia. In the meanwhile, you may go now to dress yoursssself for dinner while I continue my lessons with Basileiossss.”
“Thanks for figuring out the hairdresser. And I can get Bazzi dressed for dinner or whatever. I haven’t seen him all day.” I heft Bazzi up and switch him to the other hip to punctuate my point. Mistake. God, he’s heavy. My arms are going to be jelly by the time I get him back up the stairs.
Damianos frowns, his eyes switching between Bazzi and me. But in the end, he simply says, “I will see you both at dinner then.”
With that, he pushes past us and heads back into the house.
I turn to watch him walk away, his words from the drone, echoing in my ears.
I could never be him.
Is he right? Am I a fool?
Why do I have a feeling I’ll be finding out sooner than later?
Chapter Seventeen
The castle must have a professional-grade replicator stashed away somewhere. When I go back up to my room, I find my closet filled with rows of nanite dresses and my drawers stuffed with everything else I ordered this morning.